


Shadows Thrown By Lightning

by umadoshi (Ysabet)



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Adopted Sibling Incest, Chatting & Messaging, F/F, F/M, Pre-Series, fictional Fictionals writing Real Person Fiction about other fictional people, fictional rpf, graphic sexual talk, guilt as a guilty pleasure, no series spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabet/pseuds/umadoshi
Summary: Maggie has a 'ship. Buffy writes her some stories that should never see the light of day...and has a change in perspective.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kouredios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kouredios/gifts).



> Note to kouredios: I loved your prompt and got the itch to write something for it, but this treat-fic took the bit in its teeth and ran where it wanted, so it wound up being a bit more in the "inspired by the prompt" category than the "filling the prompt exactly" category. But I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. :)
> 
> Happy Yuletide!
> 
> (Content notes: see tags.)

Buffy waited until the credits of the movie had finished rolling and Maggie had turned the screen off before announcing, "One of these days I _am_ getting you into a room with Georgia and Shaun."

"We're not even taking a minute to appreciate the masterpiece we just saw?" Maggie lifted her head off Buffy's shoulder and wrinkled her nose, a gesture that her girlfriend found irresistible. "You mean a real room, don't you? Not a chat room?"

"Yep. A real, honest-to-God room somewhere in meatspace."

"And you're still set on dragging me down there instead of bringing them here, where it's comfy." Maggie gave the tiny bulldog in her lap a gentle scratch behind the ears.

"It's easier to convince Georgia to do something fun if she doesn't have to sacrifice hours of time to drive up when she could be working." Buffy leaned close and dropped a kiss between Maggie's eyebrows. "And don't say she can work if Shaun drives. You've never been in a vehicle with that guy behind the wheel."

Maggie let the crease in her brow be kissed away. "Maybe if you find someplace with really tasty drinks."

"Bet Shaun would help me track down the best strawberry lemonade in the Bay Area. He's usually up for random stuff like that when he's not killing dead things." The next kiss was on Maggie's mouth, followed by, "I've been working with them for _months_. And they're great. You'll like them."

"Do they like anyone but each other?" Maggie asked. "Other than you?"

Buffy scowled. "Don't judge them by the blogger gossip forums. They're just...hard to get to know."

"I'm not! I'm going by what you say and what I see in their vids." Maggie paused, then admitted, "And, okay, a little bit by what people say on the forums."

"See, that's not-- Wait. You've watched enough of their footage to have an impression of _Georgia_?" Buffy sat back, eyes widening. "These days she's only been doing enough video work for proof of life. That exposé series has been keeping her busy since--" She ticked months off on her fingers. "--June. She's barely been out with Shaun at all."

Maggie nodded. "I know. I've spent some time in their archives." Genuinely surprised, Buffy only blinked, and Maggie laughed. "They're your _friends_ , Buffy. Of course I've been checking them out. That doesn't mean I have a burning need to meet them yet." Maggie's voice dropped to a conspiratorial softness--for effect, since they were alone in the house with the dogs. Her security staff rarely came inside. "Want to know a deep, dark secret?"

"Oooh." Buffy perked up exaggeratedly. "You have to ask?"

"I'm kind of shipping them."

The dog on Maggie's lap made contented sleepy noises, preventing a sudden silence.

"Oh," Buffy said, after several long seconds had ticked by. "Is _that_ why you're not sure about meeting them? Would you feel weird?"

"Me? The queen of shamelessness?" Maggie's eyes sparkled. "No, it's not that. I'm just having fun with it. Meeting them would break the illusion."

"Magdalene Grace, are you writing RPF about my friends?"

"Maaaaaaaaybe." Maggie dragged the blatant admission out until a giggle broke it off. "Maybe a few words here and there. A few thousand."

Buffy turned the idea over in her head, pressing her lips together the way she'd trained herself to do (it kept her lip tint from rubbing onto her teeth every time she concentrated). Finally she said, "Okay. Sell me."

Maggie bent forward, as if she were talking to her bulldog, not her girlfriend. "They have their own bubble," she began, slipping into a smooth, rhythmic cadence--the one she used when she was live-blogging a movie for an audience, weaving a cocoon of story around her audience until everyone listening felt as if she were speaking to them alone.

It was a skill Buffy admired and didn't share. She shut her eyes to listen, letting Maggie weave a spell that was as much implication as narrative, trusting the listener to fill in the gaps, letting the rise and fall of her voice do as much work as the words.

"Just looking at them on screen, you can see it," said Maggie. "How there's a distance between them and everyone who comes near. How they're attuned to each other, like trees stirred by a breeze no one else feels. You can feel the ache when either of them even mentions anything personal--anything at all but each other. They don't know how to bridge that rift between them and everyone else. Maybe they don't want to. They have everything they need right there in that intimate little bubble." Her voice dropped to a murmur. "You've told me those things about them. Now imagine how it feels to only ever touch that one other person, to recoil from anyone else. They take all their love and comfort from each other, growing more and more tangled together with every year.

"One day the way they touch changes. It should feel wrong--they expect it to feel wrong--but there's nothing separating them anymore. Nothing but skin and what the world tells them _should_ separate them. But the world isn't in there with them. They can hear it whispering _wrong, wrong, wrong_ from outside their borders, but they touch and touch anyway. They cross every line. It feels so good, so _right_ , to be together. The whispers never stop, but they drown the guilt in each other when they can, as much as they can." Maggie sighed. "Maybe sometimes it hurts, all those broken edges rubbing together, knowing how far they've strayed from where society wants them to be. Maybe they're even scared, but there's no one else they can hold on to, even if they knew how to loosen their grip on each other."

Her voice lightened. "Besides, the sex would be incredible."

Buffy cracked an eye open. "Oh?"

"Mm-hmm." Maggie slipped easily out of storyteller mode, sitting up with a grin. "Think about it. Knowing someone that well? And if some tiny corner of their minds always feels like they're doing something they shouldn't, but they just can't stop themselves, just imagine how badly they'd want to make it good for each other, and for themselves. To get as much out of their addiction to each other as possible."

"Meaning orgasms?"

"And other good stuff. Back rubs. Cuddling. The ever-popular working-out-issues-by-fucking approach." The still-sleeping bulldog made a tiny, grumpy sound of protest as Maggie squirmed happily under him. "I have a lot of ideas."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Encrypted email from Buffy Meissonier to Maggie Garcia.  
Subject line: For your eyes only!!!

> When did it start? When did the first tiny sparks flicker to life in their minds? Did that illicit fire spread from one of them to the other, or ignite independently in them both?
> 
> Does any of that matter? Or is the first thing, the only thing, that matters the fact that Georgia kisses him first?
> 
> She's lost count of how many times she's caught Shaun looking at her with an incriminating bulge visible in his pants, or noticed him quickly slipping under a blanket or tucking a pillow onto his lap, hiding himself from her. The erections don't perturb her. The hiding fills her with a helpless anger that has no outlet.
> 
> Boys are eternally horny. Boys get morning wood. Boys wake up sticky with come, betrayed by their bodies' incessant need for sex-sex-sex-sex, and then they blush when their sisters ask, innocently--or not so innocently--why they changed their bedsheets first thing in the morning. Again.
> 
> Everyone knows these things about teenage boys. Georgia knows them as well as anyone.
> 
> And yet she kisses him first. She's the one who succumbs, leans closer than she ever has before. "I'm sorry if I'm wrong," she breathes, stricken by a rare moment of uncertainty once it's too late. She's already committed, already in motion, her lips parting to change their lives forever. "I'm so sorry."
> 
> Their mouths meet and their lives are sundered into three parts: "before she kissed her brother" and "after he kissed her back" and, between those, the sweet eternity of her mouth on his, the eternity of his stillness and his wide, wanting eyes and the discordant thunder of their hearts, while she desperately hopes his lips and his heart will answer hers in kind.
> 
> He kisses her back.
> 
> It's a terrible first kiss, all emotion and not a trace of skill between them.
> 
> But they're fast learners, and their second kiss is better.
> 
> The third is better still.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Buffy tried not to stare at the video chat frame that hung in the top corner of her right-hand monitor, where Maggie was reading the bit of fic Buffy had dashed off in the middle of the night. It was too hard to focus on anything else that involved looking at her main screens, so Buffy was busying her hands by sketching out a theory for rewiring some hardware in Shaun and Georgia's van to reduce signal lag. But thinking about the van meant thinking about _them_. About her friends. About what she'd imagined them doing in the name of creating a small gift for her girlfriend.

Queasy guilt gnawed at her stomach. It wasn't as if Buffy hadn't written plenty of RPF from time to time, although writing the political vignettes she'd churned out strategically to bring attention to some of Georgia's coverage had felt strange. Chat porn about actors or athletes, written entirely for fun, felt very different than capitalizing on too-long looks she'd noticed between some of the well-placed people Georgia wrote scathing commentary on.

Buffy had gotten amazing ratings for the story she'd written where an aide comforted his boss after a devastating, career-damaging op-ep Georgia had produced after Bill 92 fell through. Buffy had changed the names slightly for that one, just to be safe, but the flurry of hits showed that no one was fooled. It had been the first time Buffy had ever been personally threatened with a lawsuit, which the Bridge Supporters legal team had shut down. Working for an umbrella organization definitely had its privileges.

But writing about her _friends_ \--

Buffy's tablet beeped, signaling that it had lost track of what she was trying to do. She jumped a little in her seat, glancing down to see the tiny, tight circles she'd been doodling on the screen, pressing too hard with the stylus. She quickly looked up to see if Maggie had noticed.

It didn't look like she had. In the chat window, Maggie's eyes were shining as she looked just to the left of the webcam. She was wearing her "rereading to savor this" expression--a particularly kissable look--and wriggling with happiness.

Nothing that made Maggie look so delighted could be all bad. Buffy realized she was already thinking up ways to put that smile on her face again.

"Mmm." Maggie sighed, sitting back. "You know how I feel about first times."

A fresh scenario burst into Buffy's mind, full-fledged. Her fingers tingled with the urge to write it down.

"Yeah, I do," she said.

That was one of the many wondrous things about fiction: there could be as many first times as she could imagine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

[Encrypted chat between Buffy Meissonier and Maggie Garcia]

> BMeissonier: Which of these do you want to see more of?
> 
> 1) "After the first time they had sex, Shaun cried for both of them. They both lay under the blankets, shivering, hiding their sticky nakedness from their own eyes.
> 
> He was hard again before his tears dried. She never stopped being wet."
> 
>  
> 
> 2) "Washed clean of blood, Georgia came to his bed that night, as he'd known she would--known, longed for, dreaded--and lay down beside him, waiting. Waiting to see if he'd reach for her."
> 
>  
> 
> 3) "'We could stop,' Shaun said.
> 
> 'How?' she whispered. 'Would we just never touch again?' She reached out and stroked his arm--so gently, so carefully not sexual, and yet he trembled at that slight contact, yearning for more. 'Where would we draw the line?'"
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: ...
> 
> !!!
> 
> Just ONE?!
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: Don't be greedy.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Two days later, Buffy was working on a server upgrade, her laptop jacked into the main server in Georgia's wardrobe. They'd brought a lamp up from the living room to give her white light to work by, and Georgia had carefully chosen the spot on her bed that let her keep her face in as much shadow as possible. Buffy felt a little bad, knowing Georgia was working on her own laptop with her desk only a few feet away, but the glare was too bright there and Georgia swore she didn't mind.

 _"I work on my laptop any time I'm out with Shaun anyway,"_ she'd pointed out, which Buffy had to admit was true. And the black lights installed in the bedroom didn't cast enough illumination for Buffy to work comfortably.

Now, after Buffy had been tinkering for an hour, Georgia asked, "Why are you staring at me?"

Buffy jumped. "Am I?"

Georgia shrugged, keeping her head angled away. "You keep looking over with this weird expression. I'll tell you if I start feeling a migraine coming on, okay? Relax."

She shifted her weight, and the bed didn't creak or squeak or anything of the sort, but the barely-audible rustle of the comforter under her flooded Buffy's mind with an unexpectedly vivid mental picture.

 _Is it a fantasy if I don't _want_ to imagine it right now?_ Those images were supposed to stay segregated and come out only when she was writing things as gifts for Maggie--Maggie, who wasn't the one sitting in a small room with one of the subjects of the fantasies Buffy had been committing to words.

"Sorry," Buffy said, hoping her cheeks weren't visibly burning. She was happy being blonde, but some side effects of the matching pale skin were irritating.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Encrypted email from Buffy Meissonier to Maggie Garcia.  
Subject line: A few hours after a close call at work.

> The blood had been washed off both of them for hours by the time Georgia came to his bed that night, her skin scented with lemon and more faintly with bleach, just like his. But the heavy fragrance of the blood lingered in Shaun's nose in a way it never did when he was the only one who'd been in danger. Today there had been hot blood on his sister's face, so close to her mouth, her nose, her eyes...
> 
> Moments after he'd known they were both safe, he'd known how this day would end.
> 
> And here she was, sitting on the edge of his mattress, clean and _alive_ , her presence a wordless offer and plea--one he'd expected, and dreaded, and yearned for.
> 
> She was waiting to see if he'd reach for her. Sometimes he managed to resist his unbearable craving for her, if not as often as she succeeded in resisting on nights when _he_ came to _her_. The longing could never be denied, but sometimes they were able to fend it off, for all the good it did. Hunger left unsated didn't fade, and its existence ate at them both whether or not they acted on it.
> 
> This time Shaun offered no resistance, only opened his arms to her, pulling her down and smothering her relieved moan in a kiss. He'd almost forgotten the taste of her mouth after weeks without it, weeks of working and living side by side, sharing every intimacy but this damning one. He crushed his lips to hers, gorging himself on his sister's taste and smell and eager, living body.
> 
> It brought bitterness welling up inside him, inextricably linked to his desire. Anger roughened his hands when he undressed her, exposing flesh that had never known any touch but his.
> 
> The anger wasn't for Georgia, or even for himself. It was too nebulous, a quiet despair at how they'd been bound to each other: each of them unable to love anyone else as they loved one another, unable to find anything but the emptiest physical relief anywhere else they looked.
> 
> And he'd tried, God knew. He'd _tried_ , letting himself be seduced by the groupies who clamored for him. Tried and failed, failed to feel anything at all but the pleasure that felt pointless as soon as it was over. Sometimes he'd even failed at that, had to make excuses for his inability to get hard for the meaningless girl who'd taken him into her bed that particular night. That girl might be model-pretty, she might be willing to perform any act that piqued his interest--some of them had offered things that left him reeling--but whoever, whatever, other girls might be, they weren't _her_.
> 
> Georgia's efforts bore no resemblance to his other than in their desperation. Where he fell into countless girls' arms, drowning himself in their bodies, Georgia sometimes went weeks without touching him...which meant touching no one at all. Those were excruciating times for them both, and inevitably ended with her berating herself viciously for her inability to burn out her desire for her brother, or to find some peace in celibacy.
> 
> "I don't need sex," she'd insisted more than once when they were younger, livid with frustration and ablaze with need for _Shaun_ , for his knowing hands and increasingly practiced tongue, for the comfort of his body inside hers.
> 
> She'd stopped making that claim years ago.
> 
> Now they were silent, always; silent save for the sounds of desire that would not be thwarted, communicating through the private language of her bare skin thrilling to his, and his to hers.
> 
> It began with fucking--hard, almost brutal, a shared flagellation at succumbing to what they should never have done. But they couldn't sustain it. Punishment became lovemaking, still without a single word exchanged. Bruises were kissed even as they blossomed. Pleasure was given, and given, and given, until it was all there was.
> 
> When it was over, there was a special silence for the words neither of them had said after the very first time they'd fallen into each other's arms: "We can't ever do this again."
> 
> They'd said it that once, both of them; they'd even meant it, had struggled to look at each other's flushed, sweaty bodies with the revulsion that _should_ have been there.
> 
> After the second time, they'd known it would be a lie.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Shaun had guessed it would take him and Buffy two days to investigate all the spots in the vicinity that offered strawberry lemonade. It wasn't that there was a huge selection, he'd added, so much as the driving time from place to place and the fact that Georgia would kill him if he slacked off work entirely to do it. "Unless there's an outbreak at one of them," he'd added, eyes and smile both bright. "Then she'd be happy."

"To be rid of you or because it'd give you something to write about?" Buffy'd replied, effortlessly going along with the "ugh my sibling is _so annoying_ " game he and Georgia had clearly been playing since long before she'd started working with them.

"Either. She's not picky."

The current location was their fifth stop on the second day of the lemonade taste test. Shaun was hamming it up and casually filming the whole proceeding in case any useful footage presented itself--and _that_ had taken months for Buffy to adjust to, the fact that being in public with the Masons meant she was always being recorded, although she knew better than anyone how thoroughly they assessed anything interesting-looking before deciding whether to post it.

He was swishing a mouthful of lemonade around, doing a decent imitation of a fussy sommelier, when Buffy found herself asking, "Why don't you and Georgia date?"

Across the table, Shaun choked and snapped a hand to his camera controls, killing the feed. "Where'd that come from?"

Buffy shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "I was just wondering. I mean, Georgia's kind of a misanthrope, but you're not. And girls are falling all over you."

Shaun grinned. "Perk of the job. I do like groupies."

"But not enough to date them." Frowning, Buffy toyed with a lock of hair that had escaped from her loose braid. "Or sleep with them? If you sleep with them, you're awfully sneaky about it."

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." He took another swallow of lemonade. "Okay, verdict: this stuff's too sweet. And not enough strawberry."

Buffy sipped her own drink and was forced to agree with his assessment.

"Besides," Shaun added, "look who's talking. I don't see you introducing us to _your_ significant others."

 _I'm working on introducing you to my girlfriend_ , Buffy thought. But Shaun continued before she could think of a reply she wanted to say aloud.

"Does Maggie have a major sweet tooth?"

She thought about it. "Not _major_ , no."

Shaun stood up and stretched, then did a quick, efficient check of his weapons. "Other than her Coke crap, I've got a higher sweet tolerance than George does," he said. "So if your girl's not fueled by pure sugar, we should hit the next place on the list."

Buffy beamed as she followed him, trusting him to scope their exit for signs of trouble.

_My girl._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

[Here's another first-time scenario! Most of one. You'll see what I mean.]

> Shaun barely remembered getting home. He found himself in the garage, his memory of everything after he'd gotten into the van to leave as blurry as if he'd had way more than one drink.
> 
> He stayed in the driver's seat for a long time, debating whether he could sleep out in the van without his parents or sister noticing and getting worried. He had a second and a third drink while he was at it. It had been that kind of night.
> 
> But eventually he went into the house, finding the downstairs level empty. His parents were out at some function or other; he couldn't be bothered trying to recall what.
> 
> Georgia was upstairs in her room, eerily and dimly lit by her UV lights. Shaun stood in the doorway and gazed at her, trying to sate himself by looking.
> 
> "You're back early," she murmured, turning to look at him. "Didn't you have a date?"
> 
> She was being polite, and it made his stomach lurch. "Date" had implications he couldn't handle, but there was no better single word to take its place, nothing that meant "Weren't you planning to go bang a fangirl or two?" So Georgia used the most tactful words she could, because Shaun--as far as she knew, unless she suspected the truth, and dear God, let her not suspect--might not be up for dating or emotional entanglements of any sort, but he was generally up for a good time with a pretty girl.
> 
> It was the only thing they didn't talk about. Georgia never asked, and what was he supposed to say? "I found a girl who didn't want anything but my dick, and I gave it to her, and now I feel sick and hollow, but hey, boys will be boys, right?"
> 
> "Yeah," he said. "I guess. I mean--I couldn't--"
> 
> Words failed him, like so much else had failed him that night. Shaun closed his eyes and thought about the girl he'd taken to a room in the hotel he frequented for hookups. She _was_ pretty, with dark skin and darker eyes and hair that flowed through his fingers like water. Her smile and kisses had been eager, easily given and easy to echo. They'd kissed and kissed, and then she'd had him sit on the bed. She'd undone his fly, knelt between his spread thighs.
> 
> She'd taken him in her mouth, at which point everything went wrong. She'd gone down on him for longer than he wanted to think about, first confused, then grimly determined to get him hard.
> 
> Shaun had finally convinced her to stop--she'd been stubborn about it, incredulous, as if no guy had _ever_ failed to perform for her. He'd been vaguely glad of that, that at least his dick's refusal to cooperate wasn't likely to damage her self-esteem.
> 
> He'd apologized and fled--back to the girl he wanted, the only girl his traitorous body truly craved.
> 
> His sister, who was looked at him with increasing worry.
> 
> "Hey," Georgia said. Her arms were around him--when had she gotten up? How was she so close to him--so much closer than he would have let her get if he'd been thinking? "Hey," she said again. "Come here. Sit down."
> 
> That was the worst idea in the world. But he obeyed, let himself be led to her bed, where he sat, just like he had at the hotel, and _now_ his cock was expressing an interest. Naturally.
> 
> Georgia sat beside him and guided his head to her shoulder. "Whatever's wrong, it's okay," she whispered. "It'll be okay. I'm right here."
> 
> "Don't leave me," he whispered back.
> 
> Horror filled her voice. "Never."
> 
> He broke, sobbing against her shoulder, her throat, and further down, a slow-motion collapse as he crumpled in on himself, until his head was in her lap. And part of his mind was filing it all away, every trace of sensation, how it felt when his cheek brushed against her breast, burning it all deep into his memory forever. He cried while guilt ravaged his throat and pain stabbed his chest, because even now, in this moment when he was nothing but unspeakable desires and boundless shame, weeping, Georgia was holding him and he wanted her to never, ever let go.
> 
> She didn't let go.
> 
> "I'm sorry," he mumbled eventually, when he'd cried himself out. His eyes were sore, his cheeks aggravatingly damp, but his face was pressed against her belly--and her top had ridden up, baring a thin strip of soft, perfect flesh. Shaun rested his forehead against that spot, struggling to bring his hormones and his heart under control. Georgia's skin was so warm; her scent, both comforting and maddening beyond all reason. "I'm so sorry."
> 
> "What for?" Her fingers caressed his hair, the back of his neck. The touches, intended to be soothing, were inflaming him instead. His erection swelled harder and harder inside his pants, almost painful.
> 
> _It's the booze,_ he told himself silently, even though he was barely buzzed. No matter how it felt, he wasn't harder--or larger--than usual.

_[I'm gonna skip ahead, Maggie. Still love me? He admits how he feels, she's weirdly down with that, feelings are getting all over everything...]_

> "You know I've never been with anyone, just like I always knew when you were off with other girls." Her cheeks were flushed, her voice tight and trembling, yet each word was clear and precise. "I could never--Shaun, you _know_ I could never be with anyone else. Don't you?"
> 
> "I'm so fucking sorry." His answering whisper cracked, worn raw by all the feelings spilling out between them. "I knew--I figured--you didn't want to sleep with anyone. I didn't know I was an exception."
> 
> Georgia's laugh was soft, incongruous. "You're the only person in the world whose touch doesn't make me want to crawl out of my skin."
> 
> "Wanting touch isn't the same as wanting sex." Realization that the bed was moving under their bodies seeped into Shaun's consciousness, slowly followed by the understanding that it was due to the tremors wracking him. Georgia was so still he could have taken it for fear, if it weren't for how tightly her body was pressed to his. "And I'm your brother, even if my cock doesn't get what that means. What that ought to mean."
> 
> "I know."
> 
> "I'll never touch anyone but you again. I won't touch you any way you don't want--"
> 
> "Shaun." Her hands flew to his face, one against his cheek and the other to his lips. "Stop. I know. It's okay." She lifted her head until their foreheads touched, and said, "I want you to touch me like I'm not your sister. Which means yes, I want to have sex with you. If _you're_ sure."
> 
> "I'm sure." He kissed her, then, and her lips parted, uncertain but undeniably full of _want_.
> 
> Dizzy, more drunk on her desire than on alcohol, he kissed her again and again, as if to give her five--ten, fifty, a thousand--kisses for every one he'd ever given anyone else. When he reached for her clothes, he fumbled as if he were a virgin too.
> 
> She was naked before Shaun's brain could catch up, laid out on the bed like an offering. Her face was calm, but he could see that he was no longer the only one trembling.
> 
> He undressed too, more slowly, giving her time to watch--or to protest. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he said, lying down beside her.
> 
> "I will," Georgia said. "What I want is for you to not flinch every time I move because you think I'm changing my mind." Her hand brushed against his cock experimentally, making him groan. "And I want you to answer a question."
> 
> "What's that?"
> 
> She grinned. "Are you good in bed?"
> 
> "Yeah." He shrugged before she could tease him for the immediate response. "That's not bragging. Pleasure's always been all I could bring to the table." He couldn't see Georgia's eyes behind her sunglasses, but the rest of her face betrayed that they were widening in surprise at his bluntness. More softly, he said, "Everything but sex has always belonged to you. If I wasn't gonna get attached to anyone I slept with, the least I could do was make sure they enjoyed fucking me."
> 
> "Show me," she said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Encrypted email from Maggie Garcia to Buffy Meissonier.  
Subject line: Yes.

> I still love you, incomplete story or no. ;)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Serious question," Maggie said a couple of weeks later, when Buffy was visiting for the weekend. "Inappropriate, but serious."

Buffy sneaked a look up from where she was braiding their hair together on the pillow, her own feathery blonde strands fine enough to get lost among Maggie's heavier chestnut waves. "Hit me."

Maggie's eyes sparkled. "Oh, is that how you ask for spankings now?"

"I'm curious enough to ignore that."

"Hmm." Maggie leaned in to kiss Buffy's neck. The delicate, half-done braid went slack with no distance between them. "It's about Georgia." Her lips found Buffy's pulse, almost tickling. " _Real_ Georgia, not any of our fictional versions."

"What about her?"

"Think she goes down on guys?"

"Oh my God, Maggie!" Buffy's hands froze halfway up Maggie's spine. "I don't know! For all I know she's never even had sex."

"I bet she takes it to one extreme or the other." Maggie's voice was serene, as if she weren't kissing Buffy's jaw or nuzzling her earlobe. "Either she thinks it's disgusting or she sucks cock like it's her calling in life."

Buffy shut her eyes and decided to roll with the topic. "Georgia takes _everything_ to extremes."

"You think she really might be a virgin?"

"Maybe. And she might be asexual. We've never talked about it, but I've never even seen her check anyone out."

Maggie paused. "Would you be able to tell?"

"Why wouldn't I--oh." Buffy cracked one eye open. "Because of the sunglasses? I think I'd know." She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully until Maggie interrupted the gesture with a kiss.

The conversation didn't resume for several long, highly enjoyable minutes.

"The other thing is," Buffy eventually said, "she's awfully intimidating. I can't imagine her letting anyone close enough to even try asking her out."

"But she's compelling." Maggie laughed and cuddled closer. "She's not _my_ type, but that aura she gives off must be catnip to a lot of people." A happy shiver went through her. "Mmm. Besides, imagine being the one to get past those walls of hers."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

[Encrypted chat between Maggie Garcia and Buffy Meissonier]

> MGarcia: Remember how we were saying they must have codes or signals or something? I was thinking, lipstick's a classic.
> 
> I know G doesn't wear makeup, but picture it.
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: Go on.
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: Picture her in vamp-red lipstick.
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: ...
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: Yeah, you've seen her mouth. *winks*
> 
> Any lipstick means SEX TONIGHT. The color fills in the details.
> 
> Muted red means "I need to get laid."
> 
> Crimson's for when she feels guilty.
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: Love it when you unleash your inner Catholic schoolgirl.
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: Same to you, baby.
> 
> Maybe she needs to be punished a little. And Shaun'll do it.
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: He's uncomfortable with how hot it is.
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: It's hot because she's being vulnerable. She doesn't /do/ vulnerable. She's all tough-as-nails ice queen and uptight. She relaxes with him, yes, but once in a while that crimson lipstick comes out...
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: He gets hard just seeing it. It tells him she's feeling guilty about wanting him, but she needs him /right now/. She can't wait.
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: He yanks her clothes off and she's so wet, he doesn't even stop to undress.
> 
> He just bends her forward over anything nearby, or pushes her against a wall, and takes his cock out. "You have to say you need it."
> 
> She needs it so much. Needs him.
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: She's blushing and pissed off at herself for needing it so badly, but she /does/. She's so ashamed of it. Not the desire--she feels guilty over wanting /him/ sometimes, but the shame is over how it makes her act.
> 
> They're both glad she can't actually cry. She'd feel humiliated. No way Shaun would be able to handle that. But he can handle embarrassed. And she's /so wet/ when she tells him she needs him to screw her.
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: She keeps saying it while he fucks her.
> 
> She keeps saying it until he finishes and goes soft, and then he opens his mouth to make sure she's okay.
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: He checks in too often. He always wants to take care of her.
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: And she's not in the mood for /that/, so she kneels and opens /her/ mouth.
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: She sucks his cock until he's hard again, and he's just staring at her. Can't take his eyes off her. She's naked and her lipstick's smeared on his dick and she's blowing him like her life depends on it.
> 
> Shaun LOOOOOOVES it.
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: He can't help comparing how she seems most of the time to how she is now--completely bared to him, taking him down her throat like the rest of the world can go to hell.
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: [You really like this headcanon of her giving amazing oral.]
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: [You told me she likes being good at everything she does. Bet it's a point of pride that she can make him come so hard he can't walk for like ten minutes.]
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: [Only ten minutes???] 
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: She gives her best blowjobs when she's feeling guilty.
> 
> It's a terrible way to punish herself. She enjoys it too much.
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: She loves the look on his face when she licks her lips afterward.
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: Ratings through the roof. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> BMeissonier: [You are evil.]
> 
>  
> 
> MGarcia: [Mm-hmm.]

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Writing not-so-occasional stories for an audience of one meant not getting a ton of feedback, but Maggie responded with such delight to the bits of fiction Buffy kept sending her way that it all felt worthwhile. The downside was how Buffy kept finding herself giving Georgia and Shaun longer looks than usual when she was working or hanging out with them in person. She caught them giving her odd looks in turn, but neither of them said anything as long as she didn't stare too blatantly. Buffy suspected they were curious, but she knew Georgia was generally inclined to let people have their privacy as long as there was no whiff of a good news story floating around for her to dig into.

More and more often, Buffy found herself wishing she had more of Maggie's ability to compartmentalize her friends from the heavily fictionalized versions of them in her head. At first she'd been studying tiny quirks of how they moved, imagining how those traits might translate into details in fiction--things like how Georgia's face went blank when she was lost in concentration, or how Shaun rocked on the balls of his feet when he was on the verge of drawing a weapon.

But it was starting to color how she saw them when they were interacting with each other, in ways that made her uncomfortable down in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't realized how _often_ Shaun touched his sister when the cameras were off. The touches were always fleeting: a hand on her shoulder when he was leaning in to see her screen, a brush of his fingers to hers if he was passing by, a quick press of his hand to her back or hip. Georgia didn't reach for him as often, but his touches made her smile absently even when she was lost in something else.

Buffy was increasingly aware of what Maggie had referred to as Shaun and Georgia's "intimate little bubble", even as she wound up spending more and more time with them. There was always tech work to do, between the computers, the van, and the various cameras and other recording devices they used constantly, and doing that part of her job at their place only made sense. And when the work was done, they were happy to socialize; occasionally Buffy found herself calling her own apartment at midnight and saying she was crashing in the Masons' living room rather than getting one of them to drive her home. Writing poetry on her laptop until 4 A.M. wasn't that much different on their couch than in her own bed.

The only time they didn't include Buffy fully in their conversations was if they were veering into an argument--for which she was just as glad, given how intense they got when they disagreed with each other--but Maggie was right about the unmistakable, invisible gulf that hung between them and everyone else, including Buffy. Sometimes there was a charge between them that was almost tangible, a warm tension that left Buffy struggling not to stare or make assumptions she knew she shouldn't; far more often, she realized that they'd communicated something to each other through glances and a gesture or touch...and in those instances, they rarely thought to share it with her.

She was beginning to think that she was a closer in-person friend than either of them had ever had, other than each other. It was a dismaying, if flattering, thought, and it made her twinges of conscience over projecting her flights of fancy onto them even more painful.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Encrypted email from Buffy Meissonier to Maggie Garcia.  
Unsent

> His longing for her should be unspeakable, but her mouth on his, her kisses on his body, are more purifying than defiling. He feels like an animal when he fucks her, some innocent creature ignorant of taboos or forbidden fruit, all rutting instinct driving him into his sister's arms, into her welcoming body. His kisses and hands are rough, made rougher by her nails digging into his back. She whispers encouragement, swept up in the same frenzied need surging through his blood.
> 
> She takes every part of him. _Accepts_ every part--every inch of his demanding cock driving into her, every last illicit desire consuming his thoughts--and something inside him sings and shatters.
> 
> He comes inside her with a gutted, gasping cry, a crescendo of bliss. His hands navigate the familiar pathways of her body, caressing and coaxing until the same pleasure ignites in her, leaving her reeling under him.
> 
> When shadows of guilt creep in, as they always do, it's not the memory of ecstasy he wields against them. The shield he holds is the glory and the awe of this moment, this perfect unity he's never found with another woman. Her name is the closest thing to a prayer that ever fills his mouth. Her love is the purest thing he knows.
> 
> If damnation comes of this private joy, they'll face it together.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Encrypted email from Buffy Meissonier to Maggie Garcia.  
Subject: Are you just about ready to "break the illusion"?

> I know you're having fun with shipping him and Georgia, but it's been days since Shaun and I reached a verdict on the most glorious strawberry lemonade in the Bay Area. You should come try it soon.
> 
> I want you to meet my friends. :)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The realization that she was seeing her friends clearly for the first time, rather than letting fantasy influence her perception, wasn't earth-shattering. It was a sudden, quiet certainty.

Buffy stood in the doorway of their living room, her tablet--and the message on the screen--forgotten in her hand.

_Oh._

They weren't expecting her back in the house-- _obviously_ \--for another couple of hours; Buffy had ordered them out of the van so she could redo the wiring configuration in peace, which they all knew from experience would take ages. But Maggie had messaged to ask if that weekend was good for getting together, and Buffy was excited enough that she set her work aside and went to ask Georgia and Shaun. She'd followed the faint murmur of their voices to the living room.

_Oh._

What she saw shouldn't have been definitive proof of anything. They were standing in the center of the room, Shaun holding Georgia in a loose embrace. Her head rested against his chest in a way that told Buffy she was in the throes of a migraine. Shaun was touching her cheek with one hand.

At the bottom edge of her vision, Buffy could see his other hand in the back pocket of Georgia's jeans, cupping her--

_Oh my God._

She didn't let her eyes focus on that hand. If she didn't focus, maybe she could pretend--

Shaun tilted Georgia's head back and kissed her forehead, stroked the pad of his thumb along the tense line of her clenched jaw.

Buffy was an only child, someone whose ideas of siblinghood were colored by stories, by how her peers talked, and there was no _reason_ , was there, that a brother couldn't kiss his sister's face so tenderly--so naturally--when she was in pain?

But there was no explaining away how he was looking at her, or the way Georgia's body shifted subtly against his, comfortable and sure and--and _intimate_ , in all senses of the word. As if being in Shaun's arms meant her world was in perfect alignment, pain or no pain.

It was that transparent sense of rightness, and their absolute comfort together, that convinced Buffy, in the space of a heartbeat, that there was truth at the heart of the stories she'd been spinning for Maggie.

She tore her gaze away from them, inhaled silently, and made sure her foot scuffed the floor audibly as she stepped into the room. She kept her eyes on her tablet screen until she saw a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision, then looked up, willing them to think it was her first sight of them.

So, so casually--no sudden motion to draw attention, and oh, God, how much practice must they have at _that_?--they straightened up and away from each other, putting a safe inch between their bodies without seeming to move. Shaun's hand was no longer in Georgia's pocket; he was scratching his thigh idly as if that were the only reason his hand was down so low.

"Maggie wants to know if Saturday's good for getting together," Buffy said, rushing the words out before either of them could say anything.

They exchanged glances, conferring as easily as if Georgia weren't wearing sunglasses at all. It was nothing Buffy hadn't seen them do a hundred times, but she found herself swallowing hard against a sudden roiling in her stomach.

_Oh God._

"Saturday afternoon is fine," Georgia said. She sounded perfectly calm, but Buffy could see the strain of the migraine in her face. Even six months ago, she wouldn't have picked up on it--or Georgia wouldn't have let her see it. Buffy wasn't sure which it was.

"Great," she heard herself saying. "I'll let her know."

Shaun cocked his head, studying her. "You okay, Buff?"

Buffy nodded reflexively, trying not to notice the scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. It was suddenly impossible not to imagine Georgia counting or kissing them.

"Uh-huh," she said. "Just thinking about something Maggie and I are writing."

"Gotcha." Shaun accepted the answer with the expression that talk of Fictional work usually put on his face: boredom, only somewhat tempered by awareness that the boredom was rude.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

> Hour six of staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping.
> 
> I can't keep thinking about this, but I can't _stop_ thinking about it.
> 
> I keep replaying how Maggie described what appealed to her about the idea. But we always imagined them knowing how wrong it was.
> 
> How can they not know how horrible it is? How can they not care?
> 
> —From By the Sounding Sea, the blog of Buffy Meissonier. Unpublished; immediately deleted.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Encrypted personal file on Buffy Meissonier's laptop.

> "Is it supposed to be the feelings that are wrong, or acting on them?"
> 
> Georgia was the one asking the question aloud, but she and Shaun had been rephrasing it to each other for hours, picking at the problem that refused to feel like a problem to either of them.
> 
> If their feelings for each other were wrong, what were they supposed to do? They'd been locked into each other's orbit since before either of them could remember, pouring all the love they had into one another. It was impossible to imagine loving each other any less, or any differently, than they did.
> 
> That unfathomable idea was how they'd wound up lying under a heavy blanket in the dark, twining their bodies together as closely as they could, hearts and lungs working in sync, separated only by clothing and skin and the morality they were interrogating.
> 
> With no blood connection binding them together, wasn't it wholly a question of what their world determined to be right or wrong? Was sleeping together inherently wrong, if they were unrelated? Was kissing each other wrong? Would sex between them be wrong if they _weren't_ quietly, profoundly in love with each other? Was that love wrong even if sex never happened? If they chose to never kiss?
> 
> It was impossible to pick apart. They were exhausted, and no more sure of anything but their feelings than they'd been when they began talking. And how could the feelings that had sustained them their entire lives be wrong?
> 
> "What'll you do if I say 'screw it' and kiss you?" Shaun whispered. His eyes burned with weariness, but Georgia--his sister, the girl he'd always loved--was nestled in his arms, close and unbearably tempting.
> 
> "Kiss you back," she said, every bit as softly. "It's all abstract except us. If you can live with it, so can I."
> 
> His laughter was bitter. "I feel exactly the same way. I love you. I care what _you_ think. If we kiss once, the world won't end. I just don't think we'll be able to stop."
> 
> She picked up his train of thought, murmuring, "And if kissing you isn't wrong, why would sex be wrong?"
> 
> "It's a slippery slope, huh?"
> 
> "No," Georgia said. "It's not a slope at all. It's a precipice." She took a breath, nuzzling his chest, drinking in the beloved scent of his skin. It rushed through her veins, stirring all the desire she knew she'd never be able to deny again. "So let's jump."
> 
> "Together," he replied.
> 
> "Together," she echoed, and sealed their fate with a kiss.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Saturday came, Maggie had her driver swing by Buffy's neighborhood to pick her up on the way to meet Georgia and Shaun. Buffy was more grateful for the driver's presence than the ride; she loved Maggie dearly, but her girlfriend was a menace on the road.

"Ready?" Buffy asked when they'd come to a stop outside the nondescript diner, home of the holy grail of strawberry lemonade.

"Of course." Maggie searched her eyes, frowning. "Are _you_ ready? You look nervous."

Buffy shrugged. "I just hope you'll like each other."

"I already know I like them," Maggie said, and grinned. "Even if I'll miss the versions in my head." She leaned over and gave Buffy a kiss that put all other thoughts out of both of their minds until she broke it off with a sigh. "That was in case I haven't said 'thank you for indulging me' enthusiastically enough."

"Oh, you've been plenty enthusiastic." Buffy winked back and reached for her door handle. "Let's do this."

Several tables in the diner were occupied, but finding Shaun and Georgia was easy: Shaun was sitting in the exact same spot he'd picked when he and Buffy had visited to assess the drinks, with Georgia tucked comfortably in the spot between him and the wall. The position gave him a direct line of sight to the main entrance, and just a slight swivel would let him shoot straight back at the kitchen and bathroom doors if need be.

"Hi," said Maggie, as she and Buffy approached the table. Her smile was warm and open, showing no sign that she was resisting the impulse to extend a hand. Handshakes were one of the habits mind-bogglingly rich people still clung to, irrationally, and Maggie, like most of her social peers, had been trained to do it. "I'm Maggie. But you know that."

Buffy knew Shaun would have taken the hand if Maggie offered it; he and Georgia had training of their own, even if Buffy had never personally seen Georgia Mason willingly make deliberate physical contact with a stranger. It was a legacy of their father's professorship as much as their journalism training, part of their ability to move comfortably among people with far higher social standing.

Buffy was less positive, but reasonably certain, that Shaun was almost as relieved to _not_ have to shake hands as Georgia was.

"Hi," Shaun replied, so cheerful that Georgia, echoing his greeting a heartbeat later, seemed subdued. "Hey, Buffy."

"Hey." Buffy nodded for Maggie to slide into the booth first, then took the outside seat across from Shaun. "Hi, Georgia," Buffy added. "Glad you made it."

Georgia wrinkled her nose in the particular way that stood in for a visible eyeroll. Facing Maggie directly, she said, "Despite what these two will try to make you think, I'm not a total hermit."

Shaun snickered. "Nah, just 90 percent."

"Asshole," Georgia sighed.

Their sibling back-and-forth was flawless, Buffy caught herself thinking--as if there were any reason it wouldn't be. She supposed they'd had it down to a science by the time they'd left childhood, and whether it was an act or not, they both clearly enjoyed the offhand, affectionate banter.

Maggie offered, "From what Buffy's told me, I had the impression it was more like 80 percent." Buffy slid a glance at her and saw only amusement in her eyes.

"Well." Georgia arched a brow at Buffy, then shook her head, conceding. "That's fairly accurate. In my defense, the world is not only zombie-infested but _bright_. I do better work with fewer migraines. And Shaun spends enough time outside for fifty normal people."

This time Maggie laughed outright. "I'm in no position to judge." She leaned back in the booth, keeping her gaze on both of them. Under the table, her hand found Buffy's, giving her a quick squeeze. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you both for real."

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the title from Tom McRae's song "Expecting the Rain", and [post-reveal edit] wildpear kindly betaed for me. ^_^


End file.
